One of my favourite bloggers in the world is 538.com, a political website that frequently (though maybe decreasingly so) has mind-bogglingly good good articles, such as this one, from which this extract is a superb anecdote-with-moral:
I have a confession to make: I've been cavorting with Wall Street Bankers. I’m in a fantasy baseball league, in fact, that’s chock full of Wall Street Bankers. And once, several years ago, I was interviewed by some Wall Street Bankers for a Wall Street hedge fund job. They didn’t end up offering me this position (and actually, the job was in Connecticut), but they did take me to a Yankees game and a nice Italian meal.
More alarmingly, my best friend from college is a former Wall Street Banker. This friend, whom I’ll identify only by the pseudonym Vijay, worked as an analyst for Salomon Smith Barney for several years in New York City, although he’s since moved on to private equity and then gone back to business school.
From looking at him, you wouldn’t know that Vijay was a Wall Street Banker. He’s an unassuming guy, into indie rock and cheap beer. He doesn’t eat meat and his politics are fairly liberal, although slightly to the right of mine.
While employed on Wall Street, Vijay routinely worked in excess of 100 hours a week. His apartment in the Financial District, a few blocks away from Ground Zero, consisted of three video gaming consoles, four alarm clocks, and a mattress; he was virtually never home, and so he had little need for anything else. I remember one occasion, when I was visiting my sister in New York City and we were attempting to drink cheap beer with Vijay, when he received a message on his Blackberry and abruptly had to dart off to Kinko’s at 11:30 on Sunday evening to fax a document to a client. I thought this was Extremely Uncool –- my sister and I still talk about the “Kinko’s Incident” -- but Vijay is nothing if not hard-working.
Vijay is a rather inconspicuous consumer, however, still driving the same beat-up Honda Civic that we used to take on midnight runs to Taco & Burrito Palace while in college. Although he was once something of a cheapskate, he has since become generous to a fault: the cheap beer is usually on him. While working in private equity, Vijay took time out of his day to teach inner-city high schoolers about finance and economics, and took a year off in between jobs to see his family and volunteer for the Red Cross in India. Vijay has his vices -- if he didn't, he wouldn't be my friend -- and his prejudices -- an irrational disdain for the borough of Brooklyn, for instance. But it is hard for me, when I read blanket assertions that Wall Street businesspeople are “greedy, selfish and utterly immoral”, not to think of Vijay, who is not really any of those things. True, Vijay is perhaps slightly more motivated by financial considerations than I am (but only slightly so). He attributes this to his Indian-American upbringing, which emphasizes the idea that money is hard to make, and so you do so when you can, and then use it to provide generously for your family and friends. This is his version of the American Dream, which is slightly different from mine, and is probably slightly different from yours, but not something I can find great fault with.
It is quite possible to believe each of the following things -- that the tax code is not as progressive as it ought to be; that high-level executives at major companies make, on average, more than they ultimately generate in profits for their shareholders; that the working class have too little influence over American politics and the upper class too much, and that banks and other financial institutions are inadequately regulated -– without having to demonize the people who work on Wall Street, the vast majority of whom are like Vijay: hard-working and ethical folks, maybe a little money-obsessed, but most of whom voted in November for a President who vowed to raise their taxes.
In English lessons we are normally advised not to make generalisations; when debating we often find them very useful. But generalisations are a direct product of the most harmful aspect of human social-structure: Us Vs Them. Our ability to generalise is the opposite of our ability to empathise. And the reason I love this article so much is that it is expresses very clearly something I feel strongly about. Even if we are right in thinking that capitalism screws our society, for example, it is entirely wrong, not to mention hypocritical, to assign the blame on some conveniently scapegoatable group or stereotype.
Us Vs Them is the farcical falsity that has been the most destructive human force in history. Society, as I've probably observed before, is the single most constructive and destructive force that drives human actions. By being able to bond with each other, we can create much greater works, achieve much more, and generally be a better species. By bonding with each other, but not with everyone in the entire species, however, we make it specially easy for us to hate strangers. Hating strangers is, by its nature, always irrationally and almost always very harmful.
While it may be true that "wall-street bankers cause a lot of problems", it is wrong and, frankly, bizarre to hate an unspecific "wall-street banker" for this fact. He may be entirely innocent. And while it may be true that many people who are identified (by others) as "chavs" also cause a lot of problems, please please don't go hating the next person you see wearing addidas.
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Which came first, the attitude or everything else?
I recently stumbled across this quote by Charles R. Swindoll. How much do I agree with it? I don't know, but it might be useful for study.
The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you... we are in charge of our Attitudes.
Swindoll was (and is) a hopeless evangelical. The more I think about it, the less I agree. Are we in charge of our attitude? Probably not. I don't want to be unhappy, but sometimes I am, and there's not much I can do about it. Swindoll would probably say that, sure, everyone gets unhappy sometimes, but this is not an attitude, it's an emotion, and you can still take a positive attitude in the face of unhappiness.
But it's hard. And even if you can chose your attitude in theory, the forces that affect us often make this choice so difficult that it is basically impossible. As I've posted before, we do not remotely have free will. Even if we do have a small amount of control over it, our will is largely in the hands of fate, i.e. everything that effects us. There's no way the ratio is 1:9, as Swindoll suggests. I would say it's more like 7:3. Swindoll says that attitude is more important that eduction, money, facts, and everything else. But he doesn't see that all this is what affects our attitude. (Though I do agree these things are more important overall, it's important not to reverse cause and effect here). It is entirely unrealistic to say that we can simply pick any old attitude no matter what happens to us. Attitude is a reaction, an instinct, and it is not fully in our control. This is, incidentally, one of the most important things to bear in mind when studying society, because attitude and instinct are what make society possible. We are shaped by society and thus help to shape it. Attitude and society are luck (otherwise known as fate), they are what happens to you, and your response is limited hugely by them, and your own physiology, which is also luck. Not everyone has the necessary will to shape their attitude.
I hate to be the council of doom on this one...and I guess if you're feeling down at the moment it's much more advisable to listen to Swindoll than me. If you can take control of your attitude, then this is wonderful - you certainly should do it - but I think if we assume that everyone can be optimistic at will, then we will let a lot of people down. But if we recognise the power of fate and our largely passive nature, then we can at least work from there, and attempt to thing in more beneficial ways about such questions.
I mentioned cause and effect earlier - this question is more about the effects of causes having their own effects, and becoming causes in their own right. Swindoll says that attitude causes the causes that happen to you (i.e. if you thing positively, positive things will happen in your life), while I say that the causes that happen to you cause your attitude (i.e. if positive things happen in your life, then you will think positively). So in some ways, the whole debate can be seen as, as I recently heard it so succinctly put, buffoonery of the highest order, since we are basically arguing about chickens and eggs. But I still think your viewpoint - whether you look at it as chicken first or egg first - can be important, perhaps determining whether you're fatalistic or capitalistic.
The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you... we are in charge of our Attitudes.
Swindoll was (and is) a hopeless evangelical. The more I think about it, the less I agree. Are we in charge of our attitude? Probably not. I don't want to be unhappy, but sometimes I am, and there's not much I can do about it. Swindoll would probably say that, sure, everyone gets unhappy sometimes, but this is not an attitude, it's an emotion, and you can still take a positive attitude in the face of unhappiness.
But it's hard. And even if you can chose your attitude in theory, the forces that affect us often make this choice so difficult that it is basically impossible. As I've posted before, we do not remotely have free will. Even if we do have a small amount of control over it, our will is largely in the hands of fate, i.e. everything that effects us. There's no way the ratio is 1:9, as Swindoll suggests. I would say it's more like 7:3. Swindoll says that attitude is more important that eduction, money, facts, and everything else. But he doesn't see that all this is what affects our attitude. (Though I do agree these things are more important overall, it's important not to reverse cause and effect here). It is entirely unrealistic to say that we can simply pick any old attitude no matter what happens to us. Attitude is a reaction, an instinct, and it is not fully in our control. This is, incidentally, one of the most important things to bear in mind when studying society, because attitude and instinct are what make society possible. We are shaped by society and thus help to shape it. Attitude and society are luck (otherwise known as fate), they are what happens to you, and your response is limited hugely by them, and your own physiology, which is also luck. Not everyone has the necessary will to shape their attitude.
I hate to be the council of doom on this one...and I guess if you're feeling down at the moment it's much more advisable to listen to Swindoll than me. If you can take control of your attitude, then this is wonderful - you certainly should do it - but I think if we assume that everyone can be optimistic at will, then we will let a lot of people down. But if we recognise the power of fate and our largely passive nature, then we can at least work from there, and attempt to thing in more beneficial ways about such questions.
I mentioned cause and effect earlier - this question is more about the effects of causes having their own effects, and becoming causes in their own right. Swindoll says that attitude causes the causes that happen to you (i.e. if you thing positively, positive things will happen in your life), while I say that the causes that happen to you cause your attitude (i.e. if positive things happen in your life, then you will think positively). So in some ways, the whole debate can be seen as, as I recently heard it so succinctly put, buffoonery of the highest order, since we are basically arguing about chickens and eggs. But I still think your viewpoint - whether you look at it as chicken first or egg first - can be important, perhaps determining whether you're fatalistic or capitalistic.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Is everyone good?
I just reread the first Pilate episode from Bulgakov's Master and Margarita. If you don't know the book, it's about various surreal happenings in Moscow in Stalin's era, but one of the characters has a book about Jesus and Pontius Pilate, which differs considerably from the Biblical version (including the names). Bits of this first episode are printed below. It loses much in being taken out of context (also the translation is not my favourite), but the gist is there. When reading, consider the question in the title.
'Do you happen to know,' Pilate continued without taking his eyes off the prisoner, 'such men
as a certain Dysmas, another named Gestas, and a third named Bar-Rabban? [other criminals]'
'I do not know these good people,' the prisoner replied.
'Truly?'
'Truly.'
'And now tell me, why is it that you use me words "good people" all the time? Do you call
everyone that, or what?'
'Everyone,' the prisoner replied. There are no evil people in the world.'
'The first I hear of it,' Pilate said, grinning. 'But perhaps I know too little of life! ...
You needn't record any more,' he addressed the secretary, who had not recorded anything
anyway, and went on talking with the prisoner. 'You read that in some Greek book?'
'No, I figured it out for myself.'
'And you preach it?'
'Yes.'
'But take, for instance, the centurion Mark, the one known as Ratslayer - is he good?'
'Yes,' replied the prisoner. True, he's an unhappy man. Since the good people disfigured him,
he has become cruel and hard. I'd be curious to know who maimed him.'
'I can willingly tell you that,' Pilate responded, 'for I was a witness to it. The good people fell
on him like dogs on a bear. There were Germans fastened on his neck, his arms, his legs. The
infantry maniple was encircled, and if one flank hadn't been cut by a cavalry turmae, of which I was the commander - you, philosopher, would not have had the chance to speak with the Rat-slayer. That was at the battle of Idistaviso, in the Valley of the Virgins.'
'If I could speak with him,' the prisoner suddenly said musingly, 'I'm sure he'd change
sharply.'
...
'Listen, Ha-Nozri,' the procurator spoke, looking at Yeshua somehow strangely: the procurator's face was menacing, but his eyes were alarmed, 'did you ever say anything about the great Caesar? Answer! Did you?...Yes ... or ... no?' Pilate drew the word 'no' out somewhat longer than is done in court, and his glance sent Yeshua some thought that he wished as if to instill in the prisoner.
To speak the truth is easy and pleasant,' the prisoner observed.
'I have no need to know,' Pilate responded in a stifled, angry voice, 'whether it is pleasant or
unpleasant for you to speak the truth. You will have to speak it anyway. But, as you speak, weigh
every word, unless you want a not only inevitable but also painful death.'
No one knew what had happened with the procurator of Judea, but he allowed himself to raise
his hand as if to protect himself from a ray of sunlight, and from behind his hand, as from behind a shield, to send the prisoner some sort of prompting look.
'Answer, then,' he went on speaking, `do you know a certain Judas from Kiriath, [22] and what
precisely did you say to him about Caesar, if you said anything?'
'It was like this,' the prisoner began talking eagerly. The evening before last, near the temple,
I made the acquaintance of a young man who called himself Judas, from the town of Kiriath. He invited me to his place in the Lower City and treated me to...'
'A good man?' Pilate asked, and a devilish fire flashed in his eyes.
'A very good man and an inquisitive one,' the prisoner confirmed. 'He showed the greatest
interest in my thoughts and received me very cordially...'
'Lit the lamps...' Pilate spoke through his teeth, in the same tone as the prisoner, and his
eyes glinted.
'Yes,' Yeshua went on, slightly surprised that the procurator was so well informed, 'and asked
me to give my view of state authority. He was extremely interested in this question.'
'And what did you say?' asked Pilate. 'Or are you going to reply that you've forgotten what you
said?' But there was already hopelessness in Pilate's tone.
'Among other things,' the prisoner recounted, `I said that all authority is violence over people,
and that a time will come when there will be no authority of the Caesars, nor any other authority.
Man will pass into the kingdom of truth and justice, where generally there will be no need for any
authority.'
'Go on!'
'I didn't go on,' said the prisoner. 'Here men ran in, bound me, and took me away to prison.'
...
'I see that some misfortune has come about because I talked with that young man from
Kiriath. I have a foreboding, Hegemon, that he will come to grief, and I am very sorry for him.'
'I think,' the procurator replied, grinning strangely, `that there is now someone else in the
world for whom you ought to feel sorrier than' for Judas of Kiriath, and who is going to have it much worse than Judas! ...So, then, Mark Rat-slayer, a cold and convinced torturer, the people who, as I see,' the procurator pointed to Yeshua's disfigured face, `beat you for your preaching, the robbers Dysmas and Gestas, who with their confreres killed four soldiers, and, finally, the dirty traitor Judas - are all good people?'
'Yes,' said the prisoner.
'And the kingdom of truth will come?'
'It will, Hegemon,' Yeshua answered with conviction.
Now heretofore, I have frequently catalogued my view that mankind is the species of goodness through empathy, and that we are slowly working towards a more perfect expression of this goodness. A species capable of idealising perfection and goodness must be ultimately capable of achieving these ideals. However, at this precise moment in our evolution, there is still a lot of badness that remains in our species from the days when we were animals. I'd basically assumed that a species of goodness can still have plenty of individual anomalies, i.e. bad people, and that part of the evolution is the ever dwindling number of bad people as a percentage of all people.
I have never really believed, or even properly considered the issue, that all individuals are good. But if I am to be consistent, I am starting to think that I must, like Yeshua, consider all people to be good. Was Hitler good? Are the people who slaughter each other across the world good? Am I good?
Yeshua would argue that the answer to all these questions is yes. Hitler may have been a soulless murderer, but he was originally working for his ideals and his people. He had the misfortune of being warped by his upbringing, his society and the first world war. Yeshua would have asked to talk to him for a bit, and would be sure that "he'd change sharply". Anyone who does not act in a good way is simply unhappy, not bad.
I confess that I find this view appealing but very difficult to reconcile with myself. Consider:
1 Logically, is it impossible for everyone to be good, since such a quality can only be relative? For goodness to exist, must there be badness, because otherwise it can only be normal?
1b) Can some people be more good than others?
2 If everyone is good, why is there evil in the world?
Now, before answering slightly pedantic questions like these, I always feel that a disclaimer is needed, along the lines of "we do not necessarily believe that logic is a valid means of answering inherently non-logical questions about the significance of life, God or human-kind." Too many theorists and philosophers tackle questions about crazy deep stuff as if it's a mathematical equation that can be solved by strict application of certain rules.
Now with this disclaimer in mind, I think I can swiftly dispatch with 1 by saying that true, badness is necessary for the existence of goodness, but people can do bad things whilst still being good people. I think this is an important step for me in rationalising Yeshua's belief. I think this also sorts out question 2 fairly comprehensively. I think 1b) is more tricky, since the the whole basis of this idea is that people are good. They just are. That's what people are. Good. It's like people are carbon-based life-forms, and they are good. But they are not better. You can't be more carbon-based than someone else. It's just a thing. So if people can't be more good than each other, does this devalue the nature of goodness? I have to admit that I think it does, but perhaps not too much. I feel it is important to realise, in an entirely non-logical-and-from-the-heart way that people are good, but this doesn't mean that we are in any way deserving of praise, since it's basically in our nature - just like the vast majority of British people don't deserve any praise at all if the team called "Britain" wins the rugby world cup.
As anyone who's read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance knows, musing on the definition of 'good' is the route to madness. Here I think it should not be considered in the traditional sense of just being nice to people - not all people are nice to others clearly. What Yeshua is saying is that people are good in the sense of their state of being, their mindset or their way of thinking, if not necessarily in their actions. Sure, you can see this as a devaluing of 'good', but I think it's still important.
I'm actually quite exited that I've managed to convince myself about this. I don't feel I've been false in wanting to believe something simply because it is appealingly idealistic. I think this genuinely fits with all my other social beliefs. I guess I should thank Jesus!
'Do you happen to know,' Pilate continued without taking his eyes off the prisoner, 'such men
as a certain Dysmas, another named Gestas, and a third named Bar-Rabban? [other criminals]'
'I do not know these good people,' the prisoner replied.
'Truly?'
'Truly.'
'And now tell me, why is it that you use me words "good people" all the time? Do you call
everyone that, or what?'
'Everyone,' the prisoner replied. There are no evil people in the world.'
'The first I hear of it,' Pilate said, grinning. 'But perhaps I know too little of life! ...
You needn't record any more,' he addressed the secretary, who had not recorded anything
anyway, and went on talking with the prisoner. 'You read that in some Greek book?'
'No, I figured it out for myself.'
'And you preach it?'
'Yes.'
'But take, for instance, the centurion Mark, the one known as Ratslayer - is he good?'
'Yes,' replied the prisoner. True, he's an unhappy man. Since the good people disfigured him,
he has become cruel and hard. I'd be curious to know who maimed him.'
'I can willingly tell you that,' Pilate responded, 'for I was a witness to it. The good people fell
on him like dogs on a bear. There were Germans fastened on his neck, his arms, his legs. The
infantry maniple was encircled, and if one flank hadn't been cut by a cavalry turmae, of which I was the commander - you, philosopher, would not have had the chance to speak with the Rat-slayer. That was at the battle of Idistaviso, in the Valley of the Virgins.'
'If I could speak with him,' the prisoner suddenly said musingly, 'I'm sure he'd change
sharply.'
...
'Listen, Ha-Nozri,' the procurator spoke, looking at Yeshua somehow strangely: the procurator's face was menacing, but his eyes were alarmed, 'did you ever say anything about the great Caesar? Answer! Did you?...Yes ... or ... no?' Pilate drew the word 'no' out somewhat longer than is done in court, and his glance sent Yeshua some thought that he wished as if to instill in the prisoner.
To speak the truth is easy and pleasant,' the prisoner observed.
'I have no need to know,' Pilate responded in a stifled, angry voice, 'whether it is pleasant or
unpleasant for you to speak the truth. You will have to speak it anyway. But, as you speak, weigh
every word, unless you want a not only inevitable but also painful death.'
No one knew what had happened with the procurator of Judea, but he allowed himself to raise
his hand as if to protect himself from a ray of sunlight, and from behind his hand, as from behind a shield, to send the prisoner some sort of prompting look.
'Answer, then,' he went on speaking, `do you know a certain Judas from Kiriath, [22] and what
precisely did you say to him about Caesar, if you said anything?'
'It was like this,' the prisoner began talking eagerly. The evening before last, near the temple,
I made the acquaintance of a young man who called himself Judas, from the town of Kiriath. He invited me to his place in the Lower City and treated me to...'
'A good man?' Pilate asked, and a devilish fire flashed in his eyes.
'A very good man and an inquisitive one,' the prisoner confirmed. 'He showed the greatest
interest in my thoughts and received me very cordially...'
'Lit the lamps...' Pilate spoke through his teeth, in the same tone as the prisoner, and his
eyes glinted.
'Yes,' Yeshua went on, slightly surprised that the procurator was so well informed, 'and asked
me to give my view of state authority. He was extremely interested in this question.'
'And what did you say?' asked Pilate. 'Or are you going to reply that you've forgotten what you
said?' But there was already hopelessness in Pilate's tone.
'Among other things,' the prisoner recounted, `I said that all authority is violence over people,
and that a time will come when there will be no authority of the Caesars, nor any other authority.
Man will pass into the kingdom of truth and justice, where generally there will be no need for any
authority.'
'Go on!'
'I didn't go on,' said the prisoner. 'Here men ran in, bound me, and took me away to prison.'
...
'I see that some misfortune has come about because I talked with that young man from
Kiriath. I have a foreboding, Hegemon, that he will come to grief, and I am very sorry for him.'
'I think,' the procurator replied, grinning strangely, `that there is now someone else in the
world for whom you ought to feel sorrier than' for Judas of Kiriath, and who is going to have it much worse than Judas! ...So, then, Mark Rat-slayer, a cold and convinced torturer, the people who, as I see,' the procurator pointed to Yeshua's disfigured face, `beat you for your preaching, the robbers Dysmas and Gestas, who with their confreres killed four soldiers, and, finally, the dirty traitor Judas - are all good people?'
'Yes,' said the prisoner.
'And the kingdom of truth will come?'
'It will, Hegemon,' Yeshua answered with conviction.
Now heretofore, I have frequently catalogued my view that mankind is the species of goodness through empathy, and that we are slowly working towards a more perfect expression of this goodness. A species capable of idealising perfection and goodness must be ultimately capable of achieving these ideals. However, at this precise moment in our evolution, there is still a lot of badness that remains in our species from the days when we were animals. I'd basically assumed that a species of goodness can still have plenty of individual anomalies, i.e. bad people, and that part of the evolution is the ever dwindling number of bad people as a percentage of all people.
I have never really believed, or even properly considered the issue, that all individuals are good. But if I am to be consistent, I am starting to think that I must, like Yeshua, consider all people to be good. Was Hitler good? Are the people who slaughter each other across the world good? Am I good?
Yeshua would argue that the answer to all these questions is yes. Hitler may have been a soulless murderer, but he was originally working for his ideals and his people. He had the misfortune of being warped by his upbringing, his society and the first world war. Yeshua would have asked to talk to him for a bit, and would be sure that "he'd change sharply". Anyone who does not act in a good way is simply unhappy, not bad.
I confess that I find this view appealing but very difficult to reconcile with myself. Consider:
1 Logically, is it impossible for everyone to be good, since such a quality can only be relative? For goodness to exist, must there be badness, because otherwise it can only be normal?
1b) Can some people be more good than others?
2 If everyone is good, why is there evil in the world?
Now, before answering slightly pedantic questions like these, I always feel that a disclaimer is needed, along the lines of "we do not necessarily believe that logic is a valid means of answering inherently non-logical questions about the significance of life, God or human-kind." Too many theorists and philosophers tackle questions about crazy deep stuff as if it's a mathematical equation that can be solved by strict application of certain rules.
Now with this disclaimer in mind, I think I can swiftly dispatch with 1 by saying that true, badness is necessary for the existence of goodness, but people can do bad things whilst still being good people. I think this is an important step for me in rationalising Yeshua's belief. I think this also sorts out question 2 fairly comprehensively. I think 1b) is more tricky, since the the whole basis of this idea is that people are good. They just are. That's what people are. Good. It's like people are carbon-based life-forms, and they are good. But they are not better. You can't be more carbon-based than someone else. It's just a thing. So if people can't be more good than each other, does this devalue the nature of goodness? I have to admit that I think it does, but perhaps not too much. I feel it is important to realise, in an entirely non-logical-and-from-the-heart way that people are good, but this doesn't mean that we are in any way deserving of praise, since it's basically in our nature - just like the vast majority of British people don't deserve any praise at all if the team called "Britain" wins the rugby world cup.
As anyone who's read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance knows, musing on the definition of 'good' is the route to madness. Here I think it should not be considered in the traditional sense of just being nice to people - not all people are nice to others clearly. What Yeshua is saying is that people are good in the sense of their state of being, their mindset or their way of thinking, if not necessarily in their actions. Sure, you can see this as a devaluing of 'good', but I think it's still important.
I'm actually quite exited that I've managed to convince myself about this. I don't feel I've been false in wanting to believe something simply because it is appealingly idealistic. I think this genuinely fits with all my other social beliefs. I guess I should thank Jesus!
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Thoughts on revolution and the romantic idealist
Lately I have had the honour to hang out with several people who have far greater revolutionary credentials than I can hope to lay claim to! These people struggle everyday to make the world a better place. They are not violent, they have an almost indestructible sense of right, and they have almost no hope of ever achieving their aims in their lifetimes. They live in a corrupt and evil country in a corrupt and evil world, and they always have their ideals at the forefront of their mind. True, they don't always remember that Che Guevara was a killer as well as an inspirational reformer, and they might sometimes get a bit carried away (let's not talk about the 1st of January 1994...) But these people are bringing the revolution to Mexico.
And it's not just the zapatistas. Across the globe there are millions who hope fervently for change and are actively promoting it with every resource available to them. And many more do the same when a notable event, such as the Obama campaign, for instance, prompts them to.
At ever stage of history, there have been those who have pushed the barriers of human progress, and taken us another step towards the true meaning of humanity. At the same time, there are those who take us several steps back towards our animalistic origins through their unbelievable acts of evil. Never once has sudden revolution made any more change to human nature or human existence than the gradual revolution that takes place naturally every day across the globe. In many countries, slavery, that great pillar of the egocentric half of human nature, is already unthinkable.
These are the various and disconnected thoughts that I have about revolution. Idealism cannot be flawed unless it misunderstands the theory of evolution. Our progress is slow, but one day idealism will be all that we know. Romantics and Idealists know that Love and Respect are the foundations of true humanity, and they know that hope and idealism are the cement with which the house will be built. I hate when people say that all we need is love, but this is because I fail to understand what love is. Love is empathy, and empathy is human nature.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Love is empathy, and empathy is human nature
PS: on a slightly related note, I'd like to say that we do not rebel against a capitalist system that was created on purpose for the rich to beat down the poor. There is nothing purposeful about capitalism, as my good friend Weapons of Mass Destruction supposes, nor is there anything purposeful about socialism. They are merely reflections of the two sides of human nature. True, capitalism is far better at creating wealth, but this is only because our animal half is far better at doing things for oneself...and though many have tried to justify capitalism because it accidentally has positive effects for everyone, it is still only possible in a society that clings to the original egocentricism over the emerging altruism of empathy. True, a true and well informed altruist might select capitalism over socialism because it will create better living conditions for more people. But what percentage of humanity makes a personal decision about which economic template they follow? Society makes the decision for us, and we have no choice but to bow to social pressure, not having free will of our own on such issues (see my previous post about this) There is nothing intrinsically wrong about the omnipotence of society, nor about our lack of free will. It makes sudden revolution impossible, of course, which is a shame. But ultimately the final incarnation of human society will be socialist. It cannot help but be so. Whether it will work or not is up for discussion. I pray it will, because if not, humanity is a failed species.
And it's not just the zapatistas. Across the globe there are millions who hope fervently for change and are actively promoting it with every resource available to them. And many more do the same when a notable event, such as the Obama campaign, for instance, prompts them to.
At ever stage of history, there have been those who have pushed the barriers of human progress, and taken us another step towards the true meaning of humanity. At the same time, there are those who take us several steps back towards our animalistic origins through their unbelievable acts of evil. Never once has sudden revolution made any more change to human nature or human existence than the gradual revolution that takes place naturally every day across the globe. In many countries, slavery, that great pillar of the egocentric half of human nature, is already unthinkable.
These are the various and disconnected thoughts that I have about revolution. Idealism cannot be flawed unless it misunderstands the theory of evolution. Our progress is slow, but one day idealism will be all that we know. Romantics and Idealists know that Love and Respect are the foundations of true humanity, and they know that hope and idealism are the cement with which the house will be built. I hate when people say that all we need is love, but this is because I fail to understand what love is. Love is empathy, and empathy is human nature.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Love is empathy, and empathy is human nature
PS: on a slightly related note, I'd like to say that we do not rebel against a capitalist system that was created on purpose for the rich to beat down the poor. There is nothing purposeful about capitalism, as my good friend Weapons of Mass Destruction supposes, nor is there anything purposeful about socialism. They are merely reflections of the two sides of human nature. True, capitalism is far better at creating wealth, but this is only because our animal half is far better at doing things for oneself...and though many have tried to justify capitalism because it accidentally has positive effects for everyone, it is still only possible in a society that clings to the original egocentricism over the emerging altruism of empathy. True, a true and well informed altruist might select capitalism over socialism because it will create better living conditions for more people. But what percentage of humanity makes a personal decision about which economic template they follow? Society makes the decision for us, and we have no choice but to bow to social pressure, not having free will of our own on such issues (see my previous post about this) There is nothing intrinsically wrong about the omnipotence of society, nor about our lack of free will. It makes sudden revolution impossible, of course, which is a shame. But ultimately the final incarnation of human society will be socialist. It cannot help but be so. Whether it will work or not is up for discussion. I pray it will, because if not, humanity is a failed species.
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
The subjunctive, the Joker and the three literary references
To start with, what is grammatically wrong in this sentence:
It is important that she goes to London every month.
That's right: it should be using the subjunctive. "It is important that she go."
The subjunctive is a truly wonderful thing. I just had a great conversation with a Spanish teacher and some other linguists about its cultural significance. I only know two languages, but it is fascinating sociological/anthropological practice to compare them and the different cultures they represent. The subjunctive in Spanish was originally part of the Moorish influence that permeated the new Spain for many centuries after the last Muslims were kicked out of Iberia in the middle ages. Islamic culture is a brilliantly fatalistic thing, in which people believe that events might only occur (did you notice the subjunctive there as well?) if Allah wills them to. Thus the Spanish word Ojalá, which is actually a twist on an Arabic word meaning "God willing". Ojalá is always followed by the subjunctive.
The subjunctive "mood" expresses some kind of uncertainty, and it really moulded well into the new Hispanic-mesoamerican culture that was created by Spanish colonialism in Latinamerica. The same fatalism that was present in the rampant Catholic-Islamo determinism of Southern Europe fit in perfectly with the god fearing indigenous way of life. The subjunctive had a field day. It is important to note, however, that the subjunctive culture is not simply one of superstition. It is a means of living; a form of belief that recognises that we really have no idea what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Life happens to us; we don't control it.
At this point I am going to use the first of my literary inspirations on this topic. This is a little story in the first chapter of Mikhail Bulgakov's masterpiece The Master and Margarita, in which two atheists find themselves in an argument with a stranger about the existence of God. The atheists explain that there is no really valid proof of God, so logically we cannot say he exists. The stranger says but in that case who controls everything, who causes events to happen the way they do? The atheists explain that humans have mastered everything and we can have control over our own lives. The stranger replies, but you don't even know what's going to happen to you tonight! One of the others replies, I do know; I'm going to a meeting at x place at y time etc etc, and storms off and promptly is run over by a tram.
It is a lesson to us all: use the subjunctive to express doubt about your future doings.
To return to the analysis of subjunctive culture, it is of course particularly interesting to compare it with our western indicative culture. While Spain and France were still asking God for permission to continue with their lives, the Protestant revolutions of Northern Europe left the subjunctive lying in the dust. As good old Weber famously explained, Protestantism goes hand in hand with capitalism, and the culture of control, despite its early flirtations with predestination. To be a capitalist, you have to organise yourself, and do things the way you want them done. The puritan free-marketeers of Northern Europe and America do not think that life happens to them, despite all the evidence that it does. They seek to control their surroundings and become frustrated and psychotic when they cannot. It is particularly significant that English speakers have largely forgotten that the subjunctive even exists, as illustrated by the sentence at the top of this post. We always use the indicative, even when it is grammatically incorrect; everything for us is real and beyond doubt.
Compare this once again with Hispanic culture. In Spain itself, where the Moors left several hundred years ago and the Church's importance has declined drastically since Franco's demise, the subjunctive has started to be used less and less. But in Latinamerica, where the power of indigenous tribal religions is still subconsciously prevalent, the subjunctive is doing very well. My Spanish teacher was telling me how Mexicans cannot comprehend the idea of the diary or timetable. It seems completely bizarre to them to be planning in such detail events which we have know way of knowing will even occur. To them, capitalists like the Americans and Japanese are - in the immortal words of the Joker - schemers ("Schemers trying to control their worlds. I’m not a schemer, I show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are." - for an excellent analysis of the subjunctivism of the Joker's philosophy, see here).
Latinamerican culture is ruled by the fatalism of the subjunctive. This is particularly well demonstrated by my second literary reference for today (only one more to go!): García Márquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. In this novelette, the protagonist, a certain Santiago Nasar (significantly of Arabic origins) is murdered by the brothers of a women he is alleged to have slept with out of wedlock. Apart from the fact that the crime is motivated by the cult of virginity that is just as much a product of psycho Catholicism as the subjunctive culture is, the book is relevant because of the way it is told. The reader is informed from the beginning that Nasar will die at the end. The events of the tragedy are then unfolded in GM's typically dry, disinterested way, despite their extraordinary nature. Every inhabitant of the town is fully aware that Nasar will be killed, and they know the murders, the method and the time. They even let the murderers take the weapons with which the crime is committed. The murderers themselves don't even want to do what they do. The only person in the town who doesn't know the sequence of events in advance is Santiago Nasar himself, and nobody tells him because they believe there's no way he can't know about it. Indeed, Santiago is seconds away from salvation (still in his ignorance) when he finds the door of his house miraculously locked, by a freak chain events, thus forcing him to remain outside at the mercy of the killers. Everyone, including the murderers and the murdered, leave everything up to fate - they don't even try to overcome the inexorable events that unfold before them, unappealing as they are.
An sublime analysis of Columbian culture, the book makes us question the benefits of subjuntivism in excess, but it is my belief that a lack of any kind of fatalistic mindset is also incorrect, if not dangerous. And I feel that this post is as good a time as any to write down one of my pet theories that I find hugely interesting. That of fate.
When I say that this is my theory, I am being blatantly plagiaristic. Yet again, my theory is inspired by/taken from others. Inspired, in fact, almost in its entirety by our final text, Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. A terrific novel, a historical analysis, a romance, a social commentary, a 19th century equivalent of a war film, there are very few genres that are not covered here. But the really inspiring bit comes in the epilogue, with Tolstoy's foray into historical philosophy. His question, which I regard as the bedrock for all sociological study, is simply: "what is the force that drives nations?" Tolstoy attacks the common view of historians that historical evens occur because of the actions of certain protagonists, like, in this case, Napoleon or Tsar Alexander or Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Do thousands upon thousands of people march hundreds of miles across an entire continent, raping, pillaging and murdering as they go, simply to get slaughtered, endure miserable conditions and then march back again, simply because someone who calls himself an emperor tells them to? Clearly not. Each man goes for his own reasons, be they money, fear or pleasure. Yet even this is not the real reason why they go. There are very few people, even in 19th century France, that can be induced to kill other people merely for money. People become soldiers because of the force that drives nations: society.
But the important thing for our purposes here is not Tolstoy's sociological insight, but his point that we have not yet discovered a method for predetermining these social forces that drive the events of history, and probably never will. This is because humans do not have the free will that they think they have. Here Tolstoy really gets philosophical, and it's brilliant. No one doubts that we should aim for freedom for all people. Yet this is clearly an impossible situation. For a start, we are limited by physics. We cannot fly, we cannot stop ourselves being crushed by falling buildings when there is an earthquake. We cannot live in the sea. Secondly, we are limited by society. We cannot go around killing people at will, because we will be locked up. Thirdly, societies are limited by other societies. If we want a patch of land, we will encounter resistance from its owners. There are a whole catalogue of other limits on human activity, those are but the most obvious. As Tolstoy explains (I'm paraphrasing): we say we have free will, and we lift our arm to demonstrate this. But could we have not lifted our arm in that moment? To prove that we could not have, we leave our arm motionless for a few seconds. But at the time when the arm was lifted, is there any way we could have exerted our free will and not have lifted it?
In short, the message is that we should recognise the role of fate in our lives a bit more. It's dangerous to think that we can control everything, when we are but one element in a massive universe of happenings. We should see the demerits of our indicative culture, and perhaps remember next time to say "it's important that she go" (inshalla).
It is important that she goes to London every month.
That's right: it should be using the subjunctive. "It is important that she go."
The subjunctive is a truly wonderful thing. I just had a great conversation with a Spanish teacher and some other linguists about its cultural significance. I only know two languages, but it is fascinating sociological/anthropological practice to compare them and the different cultures they represent. The subjunctive in Spanish was originally part of the Moorish influence that permeated the new Spain for many centuries after the last Muslims were kicked out of Iberia in the middle ages. Islamic culture is a brilliantly fatalistic thing, in which people believe that events might only occur (did you notice the subjunctive there as well?) if Allah wills them to. Thus the Spanish word Ojalá, which is actually a twist on an Arabic word meaning "God willing". Ojalá is always followed by the subjunctive.
The subjunctive "mood" expresses some kind of uncertainty, and it really moulded well into the new Hispanic-mesoamerican culture that was created by Spanish colonialism in Latinamerica. The same fatalism that was present in the rampant Catholic-Islamo determinism of Southern Europe fit in perfectly with the god fearing indigenous way of life. The subjunctive had a field day. It is important to note, however, that the subjunctive culture is not simply one of superstition. It is a means of living; a form of belief that recognises that we really have no idea what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Life happens to us; we don't control it.
At this point I am going to use the first of my literary inspirations on this topic. This is a little story in the first chapter of Mikhail Bulgakov's masterpiece The Master and Margarita, in which two atheists find themselves in an argument with a stranger about the existence of God. The atheists explain that there is no really valid proof of God, so logically we cannot say he exists. The stranger says but in that case who controls everything, who causes events to happen the way they do? The atheists explain that humans have mastered everything and we can have control over our own lives. The stranger replies, but you don't even know what's going to happen to you tonight! One of the others replies, I do know; I'm going to a meeting at x place at y time etc etc, and storms off and promptly is run over by a tram.
It is a lesson to us all: use the subjunctive to express doubt about your future doings.
To return to the analysis of subjunctive culture, it is of course particularly interesting to compare it with our western indicative culture. While Spain and France were still asking God for permission to continue with their lives, the Protestant revolutions of Northern Europe left the subjunctive lying in the dust. As good old Weber famously explained, Protestantism goes hand in hand with capitalism, and the culture of control, despite its early flirtations with predestination. To be a capitalist, you have to organise yourself, and do things the way you want them done. The puritan free-marketeers of Northern Europe and America do not think that life happens to them, despite all the evidence that it does. They seek to control their surroundings and become frustrated and psychotic when they cannot. It is particularly significant that English speakers have largely forgotten that the subjunctive even exists, as illustrated by the sentence at the top of this post. We always use the indicative, even when it is grammatically incorrect; everything for us is real and beyond doubt.
Compare this once again with Hispanic culture. In Spain itself, where the Moors left several hundred years ago and the Church's importance has declined drastically since Franco's demise, the subjunctive has started to be used less and less. But in Latinamerica, where the power of indigenous tribal religions is still subconsciously prevalent, the subjunctive is doing very well. My Spanish teacher was telling me how Mexicans cannot comprehend the idea of the diary or timetable. It seems completely bizarre to them to be planning in such detail events which we have know way of knowing will even occur. To them, capitalists like the Americans and Japanese are - in the immortal words of the Joker - schemers ("Schemers trying to control their worlds. I’m not a schemer, I show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are." - for an excellent analysis of the subjunctivism of the Joker's philosophy, see here).
Latinamerican culture is ruled by the fatalism of the subjunctive. This is particularly well demonstrated by my second literary reference for today (only one more to go!): García Márquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. In this novelette, the protagonist, a certain Santiago Nasar (significantly of Arabic origins) is murdered by the brothers of a women he is alleged to have slept with out of wedlock. Apart from the fact that the crime is motivated by the cult of virginity that is just as much a product of psycho Catholicism as the subjunctive culture is, the book is relevant because of the way it is told. The reader is informed from the beginning that Nasar will die at the end. The events of the tragedy are then unfolded in GM's typically dry, disinterested way, despite their extraordinary nature. Every inhabitant of the town is fully aware that Nasar will be killed, and they know the murders, the method and the time. They even let the murderers take the weapons with which the crime is committed. The murderers themselves don't even want to do what they do. The only person in the town who doesn't know the sequence of events in advance is Santiago Nasar himself, and nobody tells him because they believe there's no way he can't know about it. Indeed, Santiago is seconds away from salvation (still in his ignorance) when he finds the door of his house miraculously locked, by a freak chain events, thus forcing him to remain outside at the mercy of the killers. Everyone, including the murderers and the murdered, leave everything up to fate - they don't even try to overcome the inexorable events that unfold before them, unappealing as they are.
An sublime analysis of Columbian culture, the book makes us question the benefits of subjuntivism in excess, but it is my belief that a lack of any kind of fatalistic mindset is also incorrect, if not dangerous. And I feel that this post is as good a time as any to write down one of my pet theories that I find hugely interesting. That of fate.
When I say that this is my theory, I am being blatantly plagiaristic. Yet again, my theory is inspired by/taken from others. Inspired, in fact, almost in its entirety by our final text, Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. A terrific novel, a historical analysis, a romance, a social commentary, a 19th century equivalent of a war film, there are very few genres that are not covered here. But the really inspiring bit comes in the epilogue, with Tolstoy's foray into historical philosophy. His question, which I regard as the bedrock for all sociological study, is simply: "what is the force that drives nations?" Tolstoy attacks the common view of historians that historical evens occur because of the actions of certain protagonists, like, in this case, Napoleon or Tsar Alexander or Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Do thousands upon thousands of people march hundreds of miles across an entire continent, raping, pillaging and murdering as they go, simply to get slaughtered, endure miserable conditions and then march back again, simply because someone who calls himself an emperor tells them to? Clearly not. Each man goes for his own reasons, be they money, fear or pleasure. Yet even this is not the real reason why they go. There are very few people, even in 19th century France, that can be induced to kill other people merely for money. People become soldiers because of the force that drives nations: society.
But the important thing for our purposes here is not Tolstoy's sociological insight, but his point that we have not yet discovered a method for predetermining these social forces that drive the events of history, and probably never will. This is because humans do not have the free will that they think they have. Here Tolstoy really gets philosophical, and it's brilliant. No one doubts that we should aim for freedom for all people. Yet this is clearly an impossible situation. For a start, we are limited by physics. We cannot fly, we cannot stop ourselves being crushed by falling buildings when there is an earthquake. We cannot live in the sea. Secondly, we are limited by society. We cannot go around killing people at will, because we will be locked up. Thirdly, societies are limited by other societies. If we want a patch of land, we will encounter resistance from its owners. There are a whole catalogue of other limits on human activity, those are but the most obvious. As Tolstoy explains (I'm paraphrasing): we say we have free will, and we lift our arm to demonstrate this. But could we have not lifted our arm in that moment? To prove that we could not have, we leave our arm motionless for a few seconds. But at the time when the arm was lifted, is there any way we could have exerted our free will and not have lifted it?
In short, the message is that we should recognise the role of fate in our lives a bit more. It's dangerous to think that we can control everything, when we are but one element in a massive universe of happenings. We should see the demerits of our indicative culture, and perhaps remember next time to say "it's important that she go" (inshalla).
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